


Confessions

by Alphawave



Series: The universe sings [9]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Priests, Cardinal!Sigma, Literally typed this in 2 hours, M/M, Not including my first Sigma fic, Pope!Harold Winston, Rimming, Sigma's the sub in this fic, Smut, Wall Sex, Which also took less than a day to write, Which is a record I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphawave/pseuds/Alphawave
Summary: Cardinal Siebren de Kuiper is a holy man and a respectable member of the Papacy. But Pope Alba, known once as Harold Winston, is intent on making him sin. And he's got just the silver tongue to make Siebren weak.





	Confessions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vainsh](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=vainsh).

> _ this fic was inspired by the drawings of one of the best Sigrold artists, Vainsh, who drew priest!Sigma and Pope!Harold. I literally saw it and wrote this in like...two hours. That's how great I thought it was XD _

Confession

Cardinal Siebren de Kuiper knows Pope Alba by many names. He knows him as His Holiness. He knows him as the Holy Father. Most often, in the privacy of their own company, he knows him by his Christian name, Harold Winston, and is one of very few allowed to speak the name to existence.

However, in that moment, he has a new name for the Pope.

“S-sir.”

“Ssshh,” Harold whispers soothingly. “Be quiet for me, will you?”

For years Siebren has wondered how a mild-mannered man like Harold Winston could ever compete for the title of pope. He does not play the game for papacy. He is a half-caste man of American and Chinese origins. He has resorted to no bribery, no tricks to secure his position, and yet he secures a majority vote and took over as pope without so much as a speck of blood on his hands.

It’s now that Siebren knows better. Harold’s hands may be clean, but that does not he is innocent. His mind is sharp, and his tongue is silver. People hang on his every breath and word, so adept his tongue is, that they do not realise the way the sentences curl around their body and pull them into the spider’s web. His hands are clean because his tongue is so dirty. His tongue is so, so dirty.

Siebren stands with furrowed brows, fists shaking at his side as Harold’s tongue flickers over his puckered hole. He’s bent forward and pushed against the wall, shame-faced but wanting as Harold’s hands roam over his ass. The pleasures of the flesh have evaded him for so long that every little touch feels like hellfire on his skin. He wonders if the Lord is up there in Heaven, watching the new apostolic successor of Saint Peter ravage another man so eagerly.

“G-god,” he whimpers.

Harold chuckles under his breath. “Do you dare speak the lord’s name in vain?”

A desperate huff escapes his lips. Siebren is ready to reprimand himself then and there. _Oh Lord, blessed be thy name, forgive me for the sin I shall commit. _He lets his head fall lower, resting on the arms pressed on the wall. His body is shaking and he doesn’t know if it’s from guilt or ecstasy.

The tongue slides so easily into his ass, almost like that is the divine purpose of a tongue. And it’s not a particularly long one but heavens, does Harold know how to use it. Penetrating the tip in, curling and twisting within, pulling these sinful sounds from Siebren’s mouth. He flicks and licks, sliding in and out like it is another appendage entirely. There have been days where Siebren wants to shut that mouth up for good, to trap that incessant tongue and let it speak no more words, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that this is how he finally shuts Harold up for good. He never imagined it to feel so wrong and right all at the same time.

His cock is quivering, dripping fluid onto the holy floors of the Vatican, staining his black cassock. If anyone could see him, they would know of his sinful misdeed. They would never suspect the Pope of doing such a thing, such a paragon of virtue and faith he is. They would never suspect the Pope of being consumed by the sin of lust, moaning into the cleft of another man’s ass.

Siebren can feel the dark threads of lust threaten to consume his mind. How he desires to remain a figure of chastity, to remain untouched and reject Harold’s advances, but he knows he cannot. His muscles do not respond to his commands, his legs widening to accommodate Harold, his muffled moans and groans spilling from his lips like the oldest wine. He is not a figure of innocence like Harold is. He’s committed so many sins. What is one more?

Harold’s tongue finally leaves and he groans lowly. How he hates this sudden feeling of empty coldness, like the devil has frozen his soul. But this emptiness is short-lived when a finger slowly pushes in. The sounds that leave Siebren’s throat are so wrong but they feel so right.

“You are good for me, Siebren,” Harold whispers. His finger pushes up to the second knuckle, and then the third. It feels so good. It feels heavenly. “So eager,” Harold chuckles.

Siebren muffles another cry when he feels the second finger slip in. They scissor within him, alternating in tandem as they thrust into him, fast yet gentle. Harold’s free hand grasps onto his shoulder, his lips breathing hot air on his collar before moving up, latching onto his earlobe. Another groan drips down his lips and is swallowed by his arm. He doesn’t know what will be worse: if the Pope’s guards hear him, or if the angels do. He doesn’t know whose judgment he fears more.

The fingers slip out of him and he shudders. It’s so embarrassing to be this weak. He’s supposed to be strong. Taller and bigger than all the other cardinals. A physical and mental threat. And yet here he is, his chest pressed onto the wall, trying to hide his groans from the guards that are barely more than a couple of metres away, enjoying every wicked touch that is placed on his body by a man so much smaller and weaker than him. A man whose every action reeks of love and sanctimonious satisfaction.

The hardness that presses into his backside makes Siebren gasp, first in surprise and then in shameful arousal. His own cock twitches eagerly. How he wants to let his hand lower down to his cock, to touch himself in that one place that has never been touched by another. He tries to fight the urge, but then a hand rakes down his spine slowly, gently.

“Do you want this, Siebren?” Harold breathes. He hides it well, but there’s a faint undercurrent of desperation in his voice. The lust has consumed him.

Siebren’s reminded of the first time he met Harold, back when they were both just cardinals. He notices the way Harold looked at him then but he could not decipher the meaning behind his heated gaze and lilting voice. He remembers how he felt that day, his heart speeding up and his chest tightening and his mind becoming cloudy with impure thoughts. He thought for so long that he hated Harold, or perhaps that Harold hated him. Now he knows that it is far from the truth.

“M-May I confess something, Holy Father?”

“Harold,” he corrects. “You know I never liked the stuffy titles.” 

“H-Harold,” Siebren says. “I want to see you. Let me see you.”

Harold does not say a word. Siebren worries he might have said something wrong but then he hears the shuffle of fabric, the pop of a cap opening, and the squelching noises of oil being rubbed onto skin.

“Turn around for me,” Harold whispers.

Shakily, Siebren turns around, pressing his back on the wall. Harold’s smiling in such a delicious daze. His cheeks and lips are as red as the devil, and just as tempting. His cock is in his hand, stroking languidly. His other hand pushes Siebren against the wall, trailing down to lift one leg up over his shoulder. Siebren’s arms cling to Harold’s neck, pulling him close.

“May I confess something myself, Siebren?”

Siebren doesn’t know what to say. Harold’s cock is pressing at his entrance, never pushing in. He’s rocking his hips so eagerly, desperate to be filled and defiled.

“I’ve wanted you for years.”

Harold finally slides into him. Siebren crushes his lips into Harold’s, laving his tongue into the cave that is Harold’s mouth. They both moan into each other, swallowing each other’s noises, obscuring them from Earth and the Heavens. Harold’s hips still as his hand leaves his own to trace the outline of Siebren’s cock, still hidden in his cassock. Slowly he rumples the cassock up and grabs Siebren’s cock, rubbing and touching as much as he can.

It’s only the wall and Harold that keep him from falling down to hell. A part of him wants to fall. A part of him wants to fall so he won’t corrupt Harold with his presence. But the other part of him is trapped in the moment, tilting his hips to meet Harold’s thrusts, relishing in the noises he can pull from Harold’s mouth. Jesus speaks of love, but what does he know of this aching, overwhelming love that has overtaken his senses? What does he know of the pleasure that spins in Siebren’s gut, of the hot and wet noises two people can share with the melodic slide of flesh, of a love that is both tainted and pure at the same time?

There’s heat all over Siebren’s body, sweat dripping off every pore. Harold gazes upon him like he’s the most heavenly creature to ever divine this earth, kissing him so sweetly and so passionately. For a moment he feels like they are one, a single entity joined together by God’s grace, waiting for the holy light to consume them both in dazzling rays of warmth and happiness.

Harold is the first to let go. Trails of saliva connect their lips together. He’s breathing hard now, his eyes staring unfocusedly on Siebren’s cock. His strokes quicken, his hips bucking underneath him. His lips are swollen and glistening and beautiful. “Cum with me,” he moans. “I’m close. A-are you close?”

Siebren nods feverishly.

“Will you cum for me only when I tell you to?”

He feels the heat threatening to consume him. He’s not sure if it’s God’s light or the Devil’s hellfire. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. “P-please, Harold.”

“Then cum for me.”

His face scrunches up, his body shivers as a loud cry escapes his lips, and soon his thick cum shoots out of him as the light overwhelms him. Harold’s grip tightens, a shaky breath escaping his lips as he cums soon after. Fatigued, they collapse on each other, Siebren’s back sliding down the wall as they let themselves get dragged down (or perhaps up) to Earth.

Their cassocks are stained with cum and sweat. Their foreheads are covered in sweat. They’re still breathing hard, trying to catch their breath. Siebren gazes upon Harold, holding onto him, his arms wrapped around his waist before he curls his head into Siebren’s shoulder. There’s absolutely no way he can hide what he has just done, but for some reason he cannot bring himself to care. Maybe it is the light that still flows in his veins, or maybe it is the blessing of God above, but he feels peaceful and happy just having Harold hug him like this.

Siebren carefully raises his hand up to rub a soothing pattern down Harold’s back. Harold takes the glasses off his face and wipes them on a clean portion of his cassock. His hands sweep over his cassock, hiding his shrinking erection.

“That was…”

“Sinful,” Siebren finishes.

“I was going to say wonderful, but I guess I see where you’re coming from with this.”

Siebren’s jaw is set tight to stop himself from smiling. “We have committed a grave sin. To perform adultery, especially premarital adultery between two men, it won’t look kindly on us. Not by the church, not by the followers”

“But you felt good, did you not? I know I did, and I’m almost sure you did too.”

Harold takes Siebren’s hands in his own. Siebren sees the papal ring and out of guilt, presses a tender kiss to it.

“We should not let the world stop us from enjoying this earthly pleasure,” Harold says.” It is my duty, after all, to guide billions. It is your duty to guide me, Cardinal de Kuiper.”

He knows this emotion he feels for Harold transcends all human emotions. It makes him burn only to cleanse him in holy water. It torments him only so he shall feel salvation. It is hell only so he can better appreciate heaven. It is love, taking him up to soaring heights and dark depths.

Harold caresses his face with his hand. His tongue is so dirty but his smile is innocent. “What do you say?”

Siebren smiles microscopically as he leans forward and presses a soft kiss. “As a Cardinal of your Holiness, I shall do whatever it takes to enact your will.”

Harold smiles indulgently and licks his lips, a heavenly angel and a wicked demon all at once. 


End file.
